Houston celebrates 50th Astrodome anniversary with one last party

Alexander Luna holds an Opening Day ticket from 50 years ago at a celebration of the Astrodome's milestone birthday on April 9.

Alexander Luna holds an Opening Day ticket from 50 years ago at a celebration of the Astrodome's milestone birthday on April 9.

Photo: Karen Warren, Houston Chronicle

Photo: Karen Warren, Houston Chronicle

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Alexander Luna holds an Opening Day ticket from 50 years ago at a celebration of the Astrodome's milestone birthday on April 9.

Alexander Luna holds an Opening Day ticket from 50 years ago at a celebration of the Astrodome's milestone birthday on April 9.

Photo: Karen Warren, Houston Chronicle

Houston celebrates 50th Astrodome anniversary with one last party

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On a fine spring day in 1965, the world stood in awe of the round colossus arising from what had been just another patch of South Texas coastal prairie.

The Eighth Wonder of the World, they called it — a perfect symbol of an emerging Space Age city that could accomplish whatever it had the will to do.

Fifty years later — to the day — about 25,000 Houston residents, a handful of erstwhile sports stars and a few local officials stood before it again Thursday evening, to gaze once more at the shuttered and now-derelict Astrodome, which collects dust, rats and mold literally in the shadow of its replacement, NRG Stadium.

This time, however, everyone got to go inside. And on this day, they outnumbered those who entered Minute Maid Park to watch the old denizens of the Dome play and lose the third game of their season against the Cleveland Indians.

After a few words from dignitaries and the presentation of a Dome-shaped birthday cake, there was a final opportunity to walk along a carpeted path to see what remains of a place that once amazed anyone who saw it.

Or who were lucky enough to play in it.

"That was my ballpark," said former Astros outfielder Jose Cruz, admitting that nostalgia sweeps over him whenever he drives by it.

Like any senior citizen recalling his lost youth, Cruz prefers talking more about the good times than the bad. And for a two-time All Star who played more games in the Astrodome than anyone else, there was no shortage of them.

Cruz, 67, recalled how close the Astros were to ultimate glory in the 1980 and 1986 playoffs. He remembers his young boys, who one day would achieve a measure of baseball stardom themselves, running the bases and playing with the kids of his teammate, Nolan Ryan.

“Every year was so good for me,” Cruz said. “This is history, and I’m glad to have been part of that history.”

As anniversaries go, the Dome’s golden affair brought a bittersweet bag of emotions.

Former Astros and Oilers were on hand to publicly remember triumphant moments they enjoyed there, playing in the world’s first air-conditioned ballpark.

Local sports fans recalled more personal moments: ball games with dad, concerts with their buddies, a childhood giving way to adulthood as they roamed the concourses of a stadium that gradually attracted more criticism than praise.

Not lost among the reverie was the sadness that comes with age. In a city that struggles with the notion of preservation, the Astrodome got the cold shoulder as soon as Minute Maid Park and NRG Stadium made it superfluous.

Those who came for the walk-through were treated to a display of sports memorabilia out front, carefully laid out on Astroturf, then got to see firsthand the toll that time has taken on Houston’s most famous landmark.

Even a recent power washing could not brighten the dank old walkways or erase the musty, dusty smell. Most of the colorful seats have been ripped out, though a few thousand remain piled up on the stadium floor.

A few commercial signs remain, but the only real evidence of the sport the stadium was built for was a patch of dirt where second base once sat.

Yet, attachment remains. While talk of the Dome these days concerns its uncertain future, with the recent plans involving re-purposing it as an urban park, Thursday night was devoted to memories.

Alexander Luna, 27, was second line, having waited since 1:30 p.m. to get into the stadium. Many of his firsts took place at the Astrodome: his first baseball game, his first rodeo, his first monster truck rally.

“Being in here again, it feels like a dream,” he said. From a small tin canister Luna pulled out two tiny pink ticket stubs from the first game ever played in the Astrodome in 1965, a game attended by more than 47,000 wide-eyed fans who saw Mickey Mantle hit the park’s first home run.

The stubs originally belonged to his grandfather, then his father. Now they are his, and they are less souvenirs from a bygone era but family heirlooms. Some day, he hopes to pass them on to his own 4-year-old son.

“If he’s into it, I probably will,” Luna said.

Of course, the Oilers played in the Astrodome as well, finally departing for Tennessee when owner Bud Adams could not get the city or county to build him his own stadium.

Pam Kersten Carlson saw many Oilers games from the sidelines as a Derrick Doll. Now 54, Carlson remembers running onto the field for the first time, to a roar almost deafening.

“It was a crazy day,” said Carlson. “It all just comes rushing back.” Carlson was a cheerleader from 1982 to 1984.

For this birthday tour, likely the last, she brought her old uniform, fully intact with long white tassels on the sleeves.

"I don't even notice all the missing pieces," she said, looking out at the Dome.

Like so many Houstonians, 60-year-old Larry Vecera was present for countless games and events at the Dome.

He especially remembers running the Astrodome 10k about two decades ago, finishing the race by coming down the ramp in the stadium and watching himself make it to the finish line on the huge scoreboard.

“It made you feel really special,” Vecera said. “It always made you feel special coming into the Dome, and being back here it feel special again.”

Like so many others who showed up for Thursday’s event, he hopes county officials find a way to keep the stadium.

However, he understands the difficulty in persuading the public to use tax dollars to do so, noting that many Harris County residents are transplants with no personal connection to the rusting hulk.

“I don’t want to force people to pay for memories they don’t have,” Vecera said, stressing that officials should find a way to raise funds to save the stadium from demolition. “Then they can have memories here once it’s reopened.”

The Astrodome birthday bash saw no shortage of tears. It once meant so much to the city. It was not merely another ballpark, but a piece of the city’s fabric. And its gradual decline seems personal to people like Lorraine Adamore, 60, who vividly remembers watching baseball games there with her father as a young girl.

But there is an even deeper connection. After moving to New Orleans in 1989, she returned during the evacuation during Hurricane Katrina. She was brought to that George R. Brown Convention Center but was separated from her daughters, which meant that every day found her trouping to the Dome, searching for friends and family in the enormous makeshift shelter.

Adamore watched family after family reunite, and saw many others holding onto hope that they would find their loved ones somewhere among the mass of people.

“This place was the link for us to find loved ones, to see all the people who are still alive,” she said, her voice cracking and a tear rolling down her cheek as she looked up at the distant skylights.

Eventually she learned that her daughters were safe in Dallas. “That’s one of the reasons we shouldn’t tear this down,” she said.

There were a lot of lives that were rebuilt from coming here.” The large birthday cake — a precise replica of the stadium, of course — was cut at 6:45 and pieces handed out.

It belongs to the people of Harris County, and we need to find a way to keep it for the people at Harris County.”

Emmett has no stronger ally than Cruz, who walked around and greeted old fans ecstatic to see him. “Cruuuuuuz,” came the old fan chant when he was spotted on the concrete floor of the stadium.

He obliged by waving and taking a mock baseball swing — a line drive to left center, no doubt. Son José Enrique Cruz was there with him. He, too, remembered the carefree days when he was lucky enough to play with his siblings and other of the players’ children out on the field.

“It’s still so beautiful,” he said. “It gives me chills.” He also can recall the day when fell down the stadium steps when he was a toddler.

He can’t really forget it, he said, pointing to the scar on his chin. In truth, no one at the park on this night could forget their early days at the Astrodome.

There had been no precedent. Stadiums had never risen so high, or had a roof over them. John Burr, 64, came to the opening-night game game 50 years ago with his parents. He was 13. He returned Thursday to take a video and a short walk into his past.

“It was just overwhelming, just walking up to the building and seeing the size of it,” Burr said.

“You just couldn’t believe it back then. It was phenomenal. You walked inside and you had to look straight up. You couldn't believe it.”

The thought of knocking it down makes him sadder than seeing it in such a disheveled state. “I just hope to God they can get the money together to make something out of it, because this is our history, and my childhood,” Burr said.

Connie Crabb Douglas is another Houstonian with a special connection. She said her father, Harrel Crabb, helped build it, welding iron. It was the biggest structure he ever worked on. The family felt it important to mention the Astrodome at his funeral in 2013. After all, he broke both arms during construction when he fell off a ladder.

“I came here today to honor my father,” Douglas said as she waited in line. “He built bridges in Chicago as well as many of the buildings here in Houston, but this was by far his favorite and what he was most proud of.” Douglas was impressed by the turnout.

Clearly, the notion of being here meant something that was hard to put into words. There was not a lot to see except an old ballpark in shabby condition.

“I hope they make something beautiful out of it, something we can be proud of, because a lot of pride was put into it,” she said.

On into the night it went, people waiting hours for a chance to walk through the cavernous old place, stopping to take pictures of friends and relatives, to take selfies, to make one more memory. The gates to the parking lot closed at 8, but the line kept growing. No one wanted to let go.